#and yet people will bend over backwards and come up with the most elaborate shit

[valkyurii]

there are two types of elden ring fan:

the normal one

and then this guy

[thorne93]

History Repeats (Part 11)

Prompt: Life’s hard, right? Well throw in a not so great job, a broken heart, and chasing a pipe dream in LA. But could someone come along to make all the bad shit disappear? Or is he just another heartbreak waiting around the bend?

Warnings: language, drug addiction, alcohol addiction, angst/heartbreak, adult themes (??)

Word Count: 1818

Note: Aesthetic made by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo because she’s absolutely amazing Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo . Brainstorming from @carryonmyswansong​

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hayden,” you said jovially as he covered your eyes, “where are we going?” you demanded playfully.

“Just a few more steps, please,” he requested, just behind you. 

A week had passed since Hayden had asked you out, trying to find a day that your schedules lined up. Now he’d had you blindfolded since you left the house, and when you got out of the car, he had you walking, covering your eyes with his hands now.

You thought you could hear water, you could hear people chatting, you could hear birds, you could hear...something hitting something, like wood on wood. 

You had no idea where you were. Your best guess was a pier. Maybe he was taking you fishing. 

“Okay, open,” Hayden quietly said and you slowly opened your eyes, the sunlight stinging at first as you looked around. You were at some sort of dock, with several gondolas.

“What is this?” you asked, looking at your surroundings with question. 

“Come on,” he said with a shy smile as he gestured for you to follow him, holding out his hand. “It’s a gondola ride,” he informed. “I thought instead of the typical dinner date, since we eat dinner all the time together, this might be a little more...fun.”

“I’ve never been on a boat before,” you softly murmured.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” he noted. “I’ll be there, not that that’s much comfort,” he teased. 

You scrunched your nose at him as he pulled you along to the rental booth, stating he had a reservation. After confirming all the details, they got your boat setup, a gondolier joining you. 

“After this, I thought we could grab lunch at a really small out of the way place I have in mind, if that’s okay with you?” he asked, seeming a little nervous.

Grinning at him, you nodded. “Of course, whatever you want.”

The two of you drifted for a little bit before the inevitable conversation started. You had started with talking about a couple of things you’d seen in the news, giving your opinion on it. Hayden agreed mostly with your views, offering questions or comments here and there. After a while, the conversation had steered from new to embarrassing moments that you’d had. You had recounted a time of being hotel manager that you’d walked in on a couple in a rather...explicit scene. 

“Oh my God,” Hayden said while laughing heartily. “You didn’t. Didn’t you knock?”

“I did! I thought I heard them say ‘Come in’ but I was mistaken. They had said, ‘Come on’...” you said, your cheeks blazing as you covered your face with your hands, laughing from the tale. 

“Not sure if that’s as bad as me walking in on Natalie during dress change for Star Wars,” he commented.

Your face went into shock as your mouth formed an O. “Oh no. Oh god. How did that happen?! You’re not serious. You’re messing with me,” you accused. 

He shook his head as he bit his bottom lip, chuckling. “Nope, not joking. It was, uh, it was...we were getting changed for one of the scenes. I thought I’d stop by to ask her her opinion on one of our next scenes. Her door was cracked open so I thought it was okay -- because she typically cracked the door when she was reading lines. I walked in and she was only halfway dressed.”

“Oh no!” you said, laughing. “Was she mad?”

Hayden shook his head. “No. She actually thought it was funny. I didn’t see anything but her back, but it still made it awkward for me for a while. She said that she thought she’d shut her door. The two of us eventually had a good laugh about it, but I thought I was a deadman when i opened that door.”

“Oh, aw,” you cooed sympathetically with a laugh. 

The two of you continued your sweet, blissful ride, swapping humiliating stories, reminiscing about hilarious childhood memories. The ride was so fun and light, the two of you laughing as you continued talking, learning about one another, and for you, falling more in love with him. Hayden truly was so sweet, level headed, down to earth, and yet, he had so many reasons that he could be totally full of himself. 

A few times, he asked you to elaborate or explain more about yourself, seemingly enthralled in your boring, mediocre life. The ride came to an end after a while, the two of you thanking your gondolier as you climbed out. He drove you over to a quaint cafe that was actually situated back in an alley. You had to go between two buildings, past a gorgeous courtyard, and then into the actual cafe. The two of you ordered and went back out to the courtyard and sat in the shade, continuing your conversation, learning all about each other.

The two of you touched a little on your personal lives. He told you about his parents, his sisters, diving into their relationship, and you loved and admired how highly he spoke of them. He was proud and impressed by all their accomplishments and it was wonderful to see that in a man. A huge turn off for you was someone who didn’t like their family. You offered up some about yourself as well, going into your childhood, your home life. 

At first, you weren’t sure that dating would be different from being friends, but quickly, you realized it was. Questions went from “What do you want for dinner?” to “What was your favorite meal growing up?” It felt backwards, to live together, to get used to each other domestically, and then start dating and learning about each other. But in one way, it got the worst part of the relationship out of the way. You weren’t learning about him in his everyday life, the two of you were trying to learn about each other, treading the waters to see if you had chemistry, anything to bond you two. 

Sure, as friends, as roommates, it was a pretty good time, but you’d seen before where friendships work, but the romance didn’t. In this case, you were praying that wasn’t true. And thus far, it proved not to be a problem. The two of you not finding anything you would consider a red flag or a deal breaker.

All too soon, the date was over and the two of you went back home to go back to living life as you had. You had some errands to run, as did Hayden, in different areas all over the city so you went your separate ways, the entire time mulling over the date, feeling giddy, excited and hopeful for the whole thing.

----------------------------------

A few days after your date, you were working your normal shift. Getting lost in paperwork, you were standing at the check in counter, the lobby completely empty, and you began to sing without thinking. Seeing as it was rather late, and you didn’t expect anyone to come around, you were humming a few bars of your own song when a man approached the counter, but you didn’t hear him. 

Not paying much attention, you continued singing when the man finally cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he softly said, making you jump.

You looked up and apologized, seeing a heavy set, middle-aged man leaning with one arm on the counter. 

“Oh, sir, I’m so sorry,” you apologized quickly, getting red-faced. 

“Not a problem. You have a good set of pipes on you,” he said, and you thanked him. “Typically, I don’t do this, but your voice...I’d like to work with you.” He pulled out his wallet and handed you a business card. “I’m Trey Corzon.”

“Trey Corzon?” you asked, fangirling and starstruck. Trey was one of the biggest names in music right now. The hottest names were popping up, and his name was all over them as the producer. 

“I’m a music producer. I was wondering if you’d like to give me a call sometime? Maybe we can work out some time in a booth. If you’d like,” he offered.

“I would love to,” you nearly shrieked.

“Do you have any demos?”

“Uh, yes, actually! I’ve got one with four tracks. Give me just a second and I’ll go get them,” you said just before you ran off to your office, grabbed the demo you kept on hand and raced back to him. “They’re a little rough, but I really think in the right hands, it could be something pretty special.” 

He took it from you and smiled. “Thanks. I’ll give it a listen. What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/F/N,” you said slowly, to make sure he heard all of it and remembered it as he shook your hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.” 

“Likewise, I’m sure,” he kindly said. “Well, hey, I gotta get running. Need to meet one of my artists at a release party. I’m gonna give this a listen in the next few days. Give me a ring, and we’ll set up something.”

“I will,” you promised, about to burst. 

“Thanks, have a good night.” 

The two of you waved as you waited until he was fully gone to do a small happy dance. You pulled out your phone and texted Hayden, telling him you had some great news.

--------------

Your shift finally ended and you nearly raced out of the hotel, throwing yourself into your car to speed home. As soon as you got in, Hayden’s face lit up.

“So what’s this great news?” he asked as he got up from the couch.

“I got discovered!” you nearly shouted, excitement in your face, voice, and body as you nearly jumped with glee. 

“You did? That’s fantastic!” he said as he ran over to you, sweeping you into his arms and spinning you around. When he sat you down, he cupped your face, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and brought his lips to yours, fervently. A congratulatory kiss. 

The kiss was swift, sweet, and punctuated with heat. When he let you go, you were breathless.

“Wow. I should get discovered more often,” you noted with bliss, your eyes still closed as he still cupped your face. He kissed your forehead and offered you to sit on the couch while he reheated leftovers for you. You told him all about it, how big of a deal it was, how excited you were. 

He seemed genuinely thrilled for you, unlike Jason, who constantly told you it was a pipe dream. The two of you talked for a little while longer, you getting entirely giddy about the idea of being a singer. Eventually, the two of you needed to go to bed though, so you bid each other a goodnight and parted ways, but for the first time in a while, you felt good about the future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

@essie1876​

@magpiegirl80​

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​

@marvel-imagines-yes-please​

@missinstantgratification​

@thejemersoninferno​

@rda1989​

@munlis​

@thefridgeismybestie​

@bubblyanarocks3​

@igiveupicantthinkofausername​

@kaliforniacoastalteens​

@feelmyroarrrr​

@kaeling​

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​

@damalseer​

@heyitscam99​

@yknott81​

@sorryimacrapwriter​

@glitterquadricorn​

@bittersweetunicorm​

@alyssaj23​

@sea040561​

@princess76179​

@thisismysecrethappyplace​

@sarahp879​

@malfoysqueen14​

@ellallheart​

@breezy1415​

@marvelmayo​

@lyniboy​

@paintballkid711​

@pandacookieowo​

@beiroviski​

Hayden Christensen:

@coldlilheart​

@haydens-moles​

History Repeats:

@multifandomblog315​

[gravityfissure]

All Good Things End : Deirdre & Otto

Summary: Deirdre summons her mushroom husband for his final sacrifice. TW: Blood, Injury, Mushroom Manipulation PARTIES: @deathduty & Otto

"We're all gathered here today to witness a truly beautiful event: the death of Otto." Deirdre, host, waved her ceremonial toaster around. The rest of the fae in attendance, mostly pixies and leprechauns, lifted—or attempted to lift—their own toasters. She'd forgotten what the toasters were supposed to represent exactly, other than their triumph and humanity's inferiority, but most things usually represented that. She turned to her husband, and smirked at him. She recalled their dalliance in the cemetery, their wedding in the woods and the escapades that followed. She was almost sad to be rid of him now. He was, perhaps, the funnest human she'd ever ensnared. Out of fondness, or nostalgia, or something else entirely, she gestured to him and her gaze softened. "Do you have anything you'd like to say, Otto? You're allowed some words before you die." The pixies gasped in unison; it was customary to get the humans to be as silent as possible, during these things—their voices were largely annoying. Deirdre shook her head and quickly explained to them, "Otto is my guest, and my human. He represents me, too. I want him to speak." And so she allowed it.

How the hell had this become his life? It was a thought that crossed his mind rather often and one that crossed his mind right now as he made his way up to the spot that Deirdre had ordered him to come along to. She’d instructed him to clean up, wear a nice nose piercing (for he’d gotten a selection from the store with his punishment) explaining the black steel ring that pierced his right nostril and not tell anyone about what he was doing. Things had not been good of late. Whatever the hell had happened at the bar, the fact he’d been forced to live as nothing more than a mundane human. Wash the dishes. Brush his hair. Empty the trash. No snap of his fingers and things took care of themselves. Worry had kept him up for several nights, waiting for any hint of it to come back. It had to come back didn’t it? Hells there was no way this could be his life. No way he could live without the essence of his very being. The toll was clear, even with the effort he’d taken to make himself look presentable.

Admittedly a loophole he’d found in that instruction was that he hadn’t been told not to tell anyone where he was going, explaining the google-maps pin he’d dropped Mercy, Jane and Cece for good measure. If someone did need to do corpse collection… Well, at least they had a start on where to find him he supposed. The phone had been tucked away and forgotten as the new ceremony began. Different this time and Otto truly wasn’t sure what to expect he couldn’t see any knives that Deirdre had claimed to be fond of in the past so maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The myriad of thoughts running through his mind was distracting, and when he was finally invited to speak and say someone Otto was at a loss for words; a rare occurrence on any normal day. “I guess-- Actually yeah, are there drinks? I’m way too sober for this shit,” maybe he could stall for a bit, though a drink also didn’t sound like a bad idea either right now. “Honestly, I’d kill for a cocktail before I kick the bucket… It’s a personal nightmare to go out stone cold sober ‘cause that’s absolutely not what my life’s about.”

“Drinks?” Deirdre glanced around, regarding the fae in attendance. “Did we bring drinks?” The fae murmured to each other, pixies fluttered about until a leprechaun hobbled forward, offering solem clicks and whistles of disappointment. She turned to Otto. “No drinks.” Which was suddenly very unfortunate, because she was craving some too. “But I like your spirit, Otto! Is that all the last words you have to offer? Usually the humans start begging now. They tell me all about how much money they can offer, about any children or lovers. They get very desperate, I love to see it on their faces.” She turned to Otto, smiling. He seemed...okay, strangely enough. Not that Deirdre was any expert on reading human’s facial expressions, they all looked mostly the same, and were too ugly to pay attention to. But this man, fun and carefree, gave her no sobbing or begging. Suddenly, she boiled with anger. “BEG FOR YOUR LIFE!” She threw her toaster down at his feet, snarling. “GIVE US ENTERTAINMENT! You think this is a game, human? I gathered my friends here to watch something good, and your smart quips are getting us—“ a Leprechaun whistles at her. Deirdre snapped around. He swished a half-empty bottle of wine. “Never mind, I’m being informed we do have some drinks.” She took the bottle and offered it to Otto. “Here, now you can die slightly tipsy.”

“Oh come on,” he protested at the shakes of multiple little heads in every direction “I thought this was meant to be a celebration of your totalitarian toaster termination techniques on full unadulterated display… That you guys knew how to party.” The clarification that normally this was the point people started begging for their lives was met with a twist of his mouth and mildly distasteful look. “Well, I mean I can’t really do that because I don’t have any of those things. Kids suck they’re so whiny and really who has the commitment for a partner when people just end up letting you down in the end, you know?” he glanced at a wizened old leprechaun who seemed to mull on this statement and nod in agreement before taking a puff on his pipe “see? This dude, he gets it.” It’s so much effort for so little reward.” Perhaps now was not the time for philosophical questioning but it was what came to mind. - if it’s a time for confession guess there’s no better time to say thanks for the motorcycle I conned you into buying for me. Really was swell of you.” But any further smartass remarks were put on hold as he dodged the toaster lobbed in his general direction and found his knees giving out as he threw himself on the floor against his will. “No- NO PLEASE!” tears welled unbidden to his eyes as he clasped at Deirdre’s boots the sobs rising against his will “I’LL DO ANYTHING, I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT! PLEASE JUST-- DON’T KILL ME! IT’S NOT A GAME! I SWEAR. PLEASE I-” he hiccuped, swallowing air “ Pleasepleaseplease.” The sobbing at her feet continued despite the profference of booze for the command to stop had not yet been given.

Deirdre frowned as Otto spoke, she reached a hand out to lay gingerly on his shoulder. “Otto...are you sad and lonely?” The fae looked at her pointedly. She flushed and withdrew both her concern and her hand, but thought to elaborate. “Having a partner is great. I love my girlfriend. I don’t believe people let you down always, sometimes they surprise you.” The leprechaun clicked his disagreement, and Deirdre waved the conversation away. “You conned me into buying you a motorcycle?” She thought about it, and expected anger or pride to come to her. Anger for the audacity of a human to think to trick her, and pride that her subordinate had tried at all. Mostly she was just...disappointed. “Why didn’t you con me out of more than just a motorcycle?” She asked, “I mean, I have the money to give you more. What’s a motorcycle worth? Like a measly few thousand dollars?” It was good then, that he started to beg, and her mood lifted. “Yes, you pathetic urchin.” She hissed and snapped her feet away from him. “I think we’re good to begin now, don’t you?” She smiled and turned to her fellow fae, careful to keep herself out of the ring again. “Stop your begging and be quiet, Otto. Now it’s time--” The pixies struggled to play their flute, leaving the air with a discordant whittling that stung Deirdre’s ears. A leprechaun banged his toaster to create a drum beat, as horrible as it was earnest. Deirdre hissed again and picked Otto off the floor and shoved him into the circle. “Go impale yourself on the tree branch there.” She pointed at the one that had been sharpened for this purpose. “Take your time though, I do like a slow death. And you may do whatever you like before you’re impaled, so long as you stay in the circle, and it doesn’t take too long.” She waved her hand in the air. “Or if I find it boring.”

Otto’s eyes widened for a moment before he laughed, well and truly laughed deeply at the notion. “Oh hells, me? Lonely? No. Lonely’s pathetic, I’m definitely not pathetic.” But then again, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder. Would anyone ever notice? Would Mercy, Cece or anyone else in his rather truncated list of acquaintances even bother to come out and look for him? “Sure did, was fun watching you bend over backwards to save your friend’s face. Can’t say it worked but it was fun to watch either way.”

But then the wet mud was soaking into his knees, immaculate nails clawing for purchase on Deirdre’s shoe that soon retracted leaving him falling facefirst into a pile of moss. As the urge to beg rescinded, he lay there for a moment gathering what little remained of his dignity and pushed himself up to his feet. Spotting the leprechaun nearby about to drain the wine he snatched the bottle out of its tiny hands and gulped it down, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Deirdre was speaking again though and the horrible irony of everything he’d been told dawned on him.

You’re not dead.

It was this thought that drifted through his mind as Otto walked with purposeful steps towards the sharpened bark. A haze of strange determination silencing all questions or thoughts that this was wrong. That he needed to run. No matter how much his mind screamed, rending itself apart.

The sharpened tip pierced the soft flesh of his abdomen, a slow progression as steps faltered and blood began to trickle in a cascade, staining the front of his shirt. A second and third followed, and as the crimson rivulets flowed their course twin tears glistened in hazel eyes. The dawning revelation of a truth Otto had always denied.

Perhaps he was lonely indeed.

Too late to do anything about it now though.

Delight spread across the fae like wildfire, infectious and brighter the longer it burned. Deirdre watched curiously. She waited for the same delight to reach her. And she waited. And she watched, and she waited. And yet, the only feeling that entered her as she watched Otto impale himself was something cold, and then sharp; something she wouldn’t dare put a name to. Emma’s eyes flashed in her mind, the look of desperation that gleamed there, and the hope that sat on her lips that Deirdre might free her. She couldn’t see Otto’s face now, and she felt all the better for it. “Stop,” she told him, “stop that. S-stop doing that.” Her command was barely a whisper above the din of celebration, fae poured into the circle, ready to party--dancing progressed around Otto’s limp body, and the music grew louder and further away from any pleasurable tune. The mushroom drums in her own head grew silent, and she left to watch the fae as an outsider to their delight. Once, she had been a child peeking from behind old trees, watching the fae with their wings and wondering when it would be her turn to be like them. The feeling she had chased for so long fluttered around her, it was cheered on by the congratulatory clicks and whistles of the leprechauns, but it could not find her heart. An organ she had long since suspected she’d lost sometime ago, some many deaths before.

She turned her back to Otto, to the mushrooms and fae surrounding him, and she walked. “I want to be good,” she told the trees as she stumbled around them. “I want to be good.” She willed the feeling to reach her. She willed herself to feel anything at all. But where she fell to the ground, staring at her unstained hands, she found nothing.

Nothing inside of her.

Eventually Otto reached a point that his feet could no longer find purchase enough to continue walking. Or perhaps it was simply the gradual weakening that came with the blood-loss. Blood-loss that left him feeling cold and tired. Tired in a way that was bone deep. There was no method to question on his lips to implore them to stop and let him go so that he might live his life. The feelings that swirled in his chest were those of anguish and an aching loneliness for which words were inadequate to describe. Loneliness he'd laughed so heartily at not five minutes prior. So maybe Deirdre was right. Perhaps he was… But too little too late.

I thought this was meant to hurt less. It always sounded like it would hurt less .

Where the voice in his mind came from he couldn’t rightly say. No warm embrace, no bright light or whatever the hell you were meant to get if this truly was the end. Just empty darkness. Even as he reached for his magic, gone since that night at the bar. Just an echo, but that’s all he was now wasn’t he? An echo of what he should’ve been. The breath rattled in his throat, life slipping away in the trickle of his lifesblood as the cold grasp of darkness coiled tighter around him; his life served forth by fate's own servant to the overture of cheerful clicks and whistles.

Perhaps someone will remember me.

[magical-beans]

Chapter 2: You’ll Shoot You’re Eye Out, Kid! (Danganronpa x Reader)

(G/N) = Given name

(S/N) = Surname

(N/N) = Nickname

Possible Trigger Warnings:  Blood/Gore, Mentions of Murder, Language

~死~

The obnoxious ring tone of an old phone rouses you out of your satisfying slumber, and you groan, fighting the urge to fall back asleep.  Your eyes crack open to see a sliver of sunlight, though the sun is likely just peeking over the horizon.  You had no intention of waking up this morning after eating a whole pizza yesterday.  It felt good to pass out in a food coma.   You groggily fumble around for the source of the noise, irritated at the wake-up call.

Your hand meets a piece of plastic, fingers closing around it to figure out what it is in the haze of your brain.  You move your fingers over the curved edge and the antenna-

The flip phone!

In your half-asleep state, you struggle to open the phone, accept the call, and press the phone to your ear before the ringing ends.

"Hello?" You cringe at the stiffness in your voice and the slight break in the middle of the word.  You swallow, trying to banish the dryness from your throat.

"Not a morning person, (N/N)-chan?" A voice cheers in your ear, distorted through the speaker. You don't reply, thinking only about how this isn't Joker on the phone.  The voice is feminine and doesn't have the same sharp edge to it as the boy from yesterday. "Well, that's okay! Meet us in ten minutes at the corner of 8 Jō North and 6 Chōme East by the old warehouse.  If you're late, we'll kill you! Toodles!"

The phone clicks and beeps as the call ends, and you lower it to your lap, staring at it for a moment in thought.

8 Jō North and 6 Chōme East.

Where was that again?

The old warehouse...?

Oh shit! I have to go!

You push off the wall you had been resting on and grab your duffel.  It contains the only stuff you own in it: a bunch of weapons and two changes of clothes. You break off in a dead sprint down the bare streets and ignore the dizziness that dances through your head.   A few cars and early birds are milling around, but most people who are awake now take the train to their offices. Good.  You need as much space as you can get.

That fucker couldn't have chosen a farther place, and he knows it.  You dart through buildings and alleys, scrambling to put together the fastest route.  It's a bonus you know this place like the back of your hand.  Courtesy of your job, you suppose.  You'll make it there right on time.  Joker can go suck a dick.

~死~

Desperation is a very important key to complete power. Complete loyalty. Complete servitude.

Ouma Kokichi knows this very well.

Because when someone is desperate, they want someone or something to rely on. To receive that, they will do anything.

So when Ouma Kokichi reaches out to someone to become his subordinate, he gives them a good, old-fashioned test.

If they are desperate enough, they will do the almost impossible task he gives them.  If not, they aren't worth his time. It's as simple as that.

(S/N) (G/N) comes hurtling out the alley next to the limo Ouma had shown up in, vaulting over the vehicle in an attempt to slow their momentum.

Two minutes early. Impressive.

Better yet, they're desperate enough to come all that way to see him.

They passed the test.

The sound of heavy panting fills the air, and (G/N) bends over their knees, struggling to regain their breath.

"(N/N)-chan! You made it!"

"Fuck... hah... you." They take deep breaths between their words, gulping down air as if it's the most precious thing in the world. They must have sprinted all the way here.

Good. The more they want it, the more they'll do.

Kokichi puts on a shit-eating grin.

"(N/N)-chan! That language is unacceptable!"

They stay silent, glaring at him.

"I shouldn't be surprised at your performance, though. You are the underground's best bodyguard, after all."

Still no response. Kokichi almost frowns. He was hoping for a little more reaction than that! He'll just have to push their buttons a little more.

"You aren't very talkative when you aren't high, are you?"

(G/N) is quiet for a moment, then finally speaks.

"It doesn't pay to have loose lips."

Kokichi giggles in his suspicious, bone-chilling manner and slips off the roof of the car. He opens the door for his new companion, welcoming them inside.

He's pleased. They're more composed than he thought they'd be.

"Welcome to the team, (N/N)-chan! Next stop? DICE headquarters!"

~死~

In truth, the only reason Ouma Kokichi had snagged (S/N) (G/N) off the street is the fact that he can't stand the sight of orphans and homeless youth.  Having been one himself at one point, it's easy to empathize with their situation, and it's even easier to offer them a spot in his ever-growing organization.  So, upon discovering that (G/N) was homeless, Kokichi's mind was made up. Give them housing and a simple office job, and he'd be on his way.

This is, of course, only until they reach headquarters.

The car ride has been quiet and uneventful.  (G/N) hasn't moved a muscle the whole time, and Kokichi and Ishida Aiko — the girl who had placed the phone call that morning — attempt to make conversation. They glean very few results.

Kokichi is so bored.  Maybe he should bother (G/N) until they snap. Yeah, but then they won't work for him.  Hmm...

His eyes slide to the black duffel tucked into (G/N)'s lap.

Perfect.

"Hey, (N/N)-chan, what's in the bag?"

They merely set the duffel on the floor and unzip it, allowing the other passengers to peek inside at the glints of metal and leather.  Come on!

Let's try that again.

"Woah!  You can use all these?"

"Yeah," they say, nodding as they recline in their seat.  Kokichi notices how comfortable they seem to be even in the stiff leather seating, and his heart clenches. (Not that he'd admit that to anybody.)

But that's still not a satisfactory reaction!  Do something!

"Cool!" He cheers.  Not really. "Can I touch them?" He doesn't wait for permission, already reaching for the bag.  Maybe he'll find a knife to play with.  That'll keep him entertained for all of, oh, a minute.  Longer than Aiko-chan, at least, and his phone.

Calloused fingers close around his wrist before he can slip his hand inside.

Kokichi glances up, fighting the urge to yank his hand away from the grip, and meets (G/N)'s stern glare.

No! Nuh-uh! Nope! Not having that!

He giggles to distract himself from the situation, pulling away slowly instead.

"I was kidding, (N/N)-chan!  Ooh!  I know!  You should show us how to use a weapon!" That would be entertaining, too!

Aiko giggles next to him, nodding her head vigorously in agreement.

(G/N) just huffs a harsh breath through their nose and zips the bag closed again, tucking it into their lap again.  Boo!

"Aww," Aiko whines, "you're no fun!" That's the smartest thing she's said all day!

The car then falls into silence, Aiko returning to her phone and (G/N) watching the buildings go by.  Kokichi weighs the merits of pretending to do something on his phone or staring out the window.  On the one hand, if he has his phone, Aiko will leave him alone, and that's really tempting.  On the other hand, he could try to creep out everybody in the car by staring blankly at the road.

Neither of them is looking at him.

Kokichi sighs.  Phone it is.

Bo~oring!

He opens his phone and stares at the home screen while he plays card games against himself in his head.

Eventually, the limo rolls to a stop next to one of the tallest high rises in the city, a massive pillar of metal and glass reaching up through the clouds.  It also happens to be a base of operations for DICE.

Finally!

The chauffeur gets out first, opening the door wide for Kokichi and Aiko.  Aiko steps out in a fit of giggles (ugh), and Kokichi tumbles out after her, grateful that he doesn't have to spend another minute in there.  (G/N) steps out on the other side, hefting their bag over their shoulder.

"Nuh-uh (N/N)-chan!" Kokichi reprimands childishly, one hand on his hip and the other outstretched, waving a slender finger.  He lets a mischievous look alight across his face and twinkle in his eyes. "The bag can't come with.  Now that you're working for me, you need new stuff!"

Only partly true, but hey, they don't need to know everything.  Welcome to the joys of being a new hire.

They frown slightly, readjusting the bag once more, and furrow their eyebrows at him.

Pffft.  They look so dumb.  Then again, they're clueless.  Everyone looks dumb when they're clueless.

... Does he look like that when he's clueless?

No.  Of course not! Ouma Kokichi is never clueless.  Duh.

The chauffeur rounds the car and holds out his hand expectantly.  After a few seconds of awkward silence and quick glances, (G/N) finally passes the bag over with a frustrated huff, stepping past the man.  Kokichi nearly laughs.  Nearly.

The limousine leaves before (G/N) reaches the curb.

"Shall we?" Aiko gestures grandly towards the building and skips onwards to the doors. Kokichi giggles, inwardly letting out an exasperated groan — she's imitating him!  How unoriginal! — then follows suit.  He sneaks a glance back at (G/N), who has fallen in step behind him, scanning the surroundings.

This is an office building for Enigmatic Jewelers: a company known for its creative settings and gorgeous stones.  It's also one of the four components that make up the elaborate scheme and corporation that is DICE.  A single building of its kind out of thousands worldwide.

Aiko flings the glass doors open, and Kokichi turns to face (G/N), walking backward as he offers an explanation.

"Welcome to DICE, recruit!" He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the open and tactfully furnished atrium.  Behind him, Aiko prances up to the front desk, relaying the orders he had sent her earlier. "Don't slack off, or I'll have you killed!"

(G/N) offers no reaction.  Humph, disappointing.

"Come along now, your tour awaits!"

~死~

The office floor is a massive expanse of cubicles and desks.

The minute you step out of the elevator, you're affronted by the stench of cheap coffee and a sea of noise.  It's rather overwhelming.  You don't enjoy being in crowded rooms, especially so unprepared.  It's the best place for a mass murderer's last stand; so many people to kill, so little space to escape.  You straighten up, lending your senses to the surroundings.  Being surprised is not an option.

Aiko has pranced off somewhere, mentioning something about a friend.  Not that you would ever say it out loud, but you're grateful she's gone.  She's trying too hard to be something she's not.

Now you're alone with Joker -- sort of -- and you study the lines of his shoulders and arms as he walks.   He's saying things you're only half-listening to, prattling on about this and that.  You've been trying to get a read on him all morning, but the only thing you can sense is his abrasive exterior.  It makes you uneasy.  Then again, that's probably the point, so you try your best to push it aside, but it still gets on your nerves.  It makes you wonder how he does it, creates a total air about himself that's so utterly repelling.

And there was that moment in the car...

Joker raises his arm to point into an empty cubicle, but your focus is elsewhere.  Your gut is roiling, an unwelcome heat settling in your chest.  Something isn't right.

"And this is where-" You cut Joker off, ushering him into the cubicle as gently as you can with a hand on his shoulder.  He looks up at you, expression pinched and confused.

"Get down.  Now." Unfortunately, your voice doesn't hold the same tenderness.  Instead, it sounds gruff in its effort to remain low.  You can't see his reaction, but you can tell he's uncomfortable, and he's hesitating.  You pay him no mind, surveying the area above the cubicle in a search for what set off your instincts.  The longer he stands, though, you become antsier. You're a millisecond from shoving him to the floor when he finally pulls out the chair to sit down.

You breathe a sigh of relie-

Then the screaming starts, followed by the sound of gunshots.

Fucking-

"I heard you!  Where are you, you motherfucker?" A man stands up into view, a massive automatic rifle in hand, blood already spattered across his face.  A few people are struggling to get away, but there have been no fatal shots.  Okay, that's good.

You're off in a sprint before the man can finish his next shouts.

You leap over the first set of cubicles, sweeping paper off the nearest desk and up into the air.   Hopefully that obscures his vision.  While the gunman is distracted, you dash through the maze of desks, pushing people down and out of the line of fire.  When you're finally close enough, you roll under the line of his barrel and send a fist into his stomach.  As the man doubles over, you find your opportunity to separate the man and his weapon, and you take it.   You rip the gun from his hands, cracking it in half over the nearest desk, and throw it to the side.  You grab the attacker by his wrists and bind his hands behind his back then leverage yourself above him.  You grip the back of his head in one hand to push his face into the ground.

"Is there any particular reason you needed something so dangerous in an office?"

The guy coughs, air pushed out of him from the punch and his relocation to the ground.  Up close, he looks too young to be working an office job.  He ignores you, and instead growls, "Who the fuck are you?"

You grip his head tighter, pushing with a little more force against the bridge of his nose.  A threat. "I asked you a question first."

"And I don't fucking care!  Who do you think you are, huh?"

You shatter his nose against the floor as Joker rounds the corner. Damn, you were hoping he'd stay put. The man wails in agony, struggling against the hand that holds his wrists in place. Blood pools under his face.

"My, my, (N/N)-chan! Who knew you were so violent?" Joker's white converse enter your line of sight before they halt, but you don't look up, opting instead to keep your eyes trained on the attacker.  At the sound of the Devil's voice, the man struggles harder.

"You! You, you motherfucker, this is all your fault! All of it!"

He's jolting violently against your hands, making valiant efforts to escape you despite the amount of pain he must be in.   In an attempt to silence him, you brace your leg across his triceps and pull up on his wrists.

"Continue yelling and I break both of your arms."

"Hold on, (N/N)-chan! I want to hear what he has to say!  There sure are some interesting words coming out of that enormous mouth of his!" Joker doesn't sound the least bit concerned.

Joker crouches down to be more level with the attacker, and this time, you can see most of him. The tips of his inky hair curl into your vision.  The look on his face isn't visible, but you're sure it's some variation of a sadistic smile, the bastard.  Joker waits for the guy to speak again.

"I thought it was a good thing, you know?" the guy coughs again mid-sentence, spitting up more blood. "You invited me here, gave me a job.  I figured that this would be heaven compared to everything I've been through.  But no!  You've turned me into a goddamn robot, answering calls all day and managing sales!  I would rather be back on the streets again!  All the people here feel the same way! Let us go!"

"Let you go, you say?" Joker's voice lilts sweetly, and he brings a hand up to his face as though he's considering something. "I can do that!  All you had to do was ask!"

The guy stills under your hands.

You're confused, sort of relieved.  Shouldn't there be some kind of catch?

"...Really?"

"Of course!  I have no problem with blowing this whole place up!  How does the afterlife sound?"

Ah.  There it is.

And the squirming starts again.

The real question is why you thought Joker might have let him go.

"The afterlife?  You sick bastard.  I swear to God when I get my hands on you-" You press the guy's face harder into the floor, and he gets cut off by his own shout of pain.

"Hmm, well that's too bad.  (N/N)-chan, break his arms and knock him out.  He's coming with us." Joker stands up in a twirl not unlike how he had yesterday, and waves his hand nonchalantly, beckoning you to follow.

Well, you'll prepare for the worst.

You knock the guy out via pressure point before you break his arms, minimizing his pain.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

~死~

Kokichi enters the elevator again, (G/N) at his side.  The guy -- Kindaichi Tomura, because he would never forget someone -- is hanging over (G/N)'s shoulder.  Without Aiko, (G/N)'s presence is almost overwhelming in the compact space.  Even as they turn their back to set the guy down, Kokichi has to resist the urge to shiver and shrink away.

That's easy.  He has a lot of experience fighting that instinct in particular.

He's also curious.  So curious.  More curious than ridiculously creeped out.

He wants to know more.

"Where to?"

It's weird to think they're a year younger than he is.  All things considered, he's pretty impressed with the underground's best bodyguard.

That's a damn good gut instinct, too!  Like, Kokichi hadn't even thought it was possible to have a gun in there, but it is.  And -- he sneaks a glance at Kindaichi -- that's a shame.  To smuggle a gun past metal detectors?  It's almost too bad Kokichi has to get rid of him.

"My super top-secret lab!  We have to dispose of the body, you know?"

He lets his mouth go on autopilot for one minute, and this is the shit that comes out of his mouth?  Damn, that's good.

Also, what's with that?  A bodyguard who can't take a life?  (He's taking a guess, but Kokichi is seldom wrong.)  Yes, Kokichi supposes, their job is to protect, but shouldn't they be able to take a life in the interest of their client?  Isn't that how that's supposed to work?  While he's lost in his head, Kokichi almost misses (G/N) priceless reaction.

(G/N) frowns, looking down at the passed out, bloodied guy propped up on the elevator wall. "He's not dead."

"Whaaaat?  You didn't kill him, (N/N)-chan?  You were so scary back there I thought you didn't know how not to kill people!"

Okay, maybe a little far, but who is he if he doesn't push a few buttons?

Their frown deepens, and he wants to laugh, but they don't push any further on the topic.  Hmm.  More self-control than he expected.

"So we'll kill him and dispose of his body." They say it as more of a statement than a question, sure that's the outcome.  The disappointment and apprehension he hears in their voice make him want to cackle until he cries.

The elevator reaches the first floor, but the doors don't open.  From his pocket, Kokichi pulls a key chain that holds two dangling charms: one a grinning comedy mask, and the other a die, ten-sided.  He presses the point of the comedy mask into the key-slot, and the elevator starts up again, heading down.  Kokichi is on the verge of another bark of laughter when he senses (G/N) jolt in surprise but quickly schools his face.

"Of course not, Silly Goose!  How could you believe that?  We won't kill him.  We just have to make sure everyone thinks we did."

The elevator slides to a stop and the doors open, the screen above the door reading:

Floor Poker

Kokichi steps out and spins to face (G/N), scanning their face as it morphs into awe.  Well, that's a given.  The technology and equipment behind him are state of the art.  He grins.

"Welcome to DICE, (S/N) (G/N).  For real this time.  My name is Kokichi Ouma, but you can call me Boss."

They glance down at him, looking him straight in the eye as if gauging the truth of his statement.  Moments later, they smile softly.

"Please take care of me." They bow their head, and for the first time, Kokichi feels their presence relax and transform.  A wave of serenity pass over him, curling around him and filling him with something warm and soft.

Relief, care, safety.

Love.

Maybe not for the person in front of him, not yet, but for his work.  It's times like this that he knows everything was worth it.  Will always be worth it.

But supreme leaders can't stand in the comfort zone for too long!  Kokichi shakes his head to rid him of the weird thoughts.  Letting his familiar, mischievous grin slip into place, he prances further into the lab.

"Come on, (N/N)-chan!  We have a body to burn!"

The reply that makes its way back is warm in tone, bouncing with slight laughter.  Kokichi's heart fills a little more, already way past its capacity.

"Of course, Boss."

[nadiineross]

idk if you are still looking for prompts but I just thought of this one, so here you go: Nadine and Chloe are attending a party and have to arrive separately for some thief-y reason, and when Chloe sees Nadine walking in wearing a dapper ass bespoke suit she like, chokes on her champagne because holy shit soft butch Nadine?? Is so so hot??? Even if you can’t write it I just had to get that idea out into the world. Thx for listening!

listen……….. i actually have a wip thats set pre-tll from a year ago abt chloe meeting nadine at a fancy event and dying bc nadine looks So Good in her suit but i dunno where im gonna go with that so i just wrote a new thing so here u go:

Chloe would take mucking about in old ruins, dressed in a tattered old shirt and jeans, over attending a stuffy party in clothes that cost more than the rest of her wardrobe combined any day of the week.

She didn’t hate dressing up, she was actually rather good at it honestly, but she was the type of woman accustomed to tactile boots, ratty jeans, and heavy leather jackets. Still, she knew how to have her fun.

She took a certain joy out of shocking people in ways other than throwing a grenade at them — she’d done it with Nate when they first met, when she saved his arse not a day after kicking it, and even that first time with Flynn, before that whole Shambhala mess. (The times where she’d surprised him out of necessity didn’t count.)

The bottom line: she was bored, she looked amazing, and people were staring.

It was a corporate dinner party hosted in the biggest hall offered by the most expensive five-star hotel in England. This meant there were a lot of older white men milling around to impress which wasn’t what Chloe would call hard.

Her hair was twisted and pinned into an elaborate updo that had taken her an hour to finish. The dress she wore was burgundy and off-the-shoulder, scooping to reveal three-quarters of her wiry back. Fabric wound across her chest, exposing her collarbones, and around both her biceps. Button-sized red gems hung by intricate golden hooks from her ears, accompanied by less elaborate yet equally shiny jewellery through her second lobe piercings and her helix. In her nose, she had a single gold hoop. Her clutch was small and simple, and only contained her phone and some cash.

And, of course, she arrived barely under an hour late just to make a scene.

She’d made a beeline for the bar upon arriving and hadn’t moved an inch for the hour that she’d been there. Men and women alike had ventured near to brush by her elbows and many had attempted to strike a conversation with her, and the ones that were polite or interesting enough, she entertained.

A man, hair streaked with grey, eyed her from across the room. She fought not to roll her eyes and turned back to the bartender when she failed so he wouldn’t see.

“What’s the time, mate?” she asked, leaning over the table on her arms.

The bartender glanced at her watch. “Almost eight,” she said, topping off her glass of champagne.

Chloe sighed.

She knew Nadine had said she might be late, but two hours was just ridiculous.

They’d been together as partners for two years now and for half that time, they’ve been together as, well, whatever you called two people who flew around the world to find some treasure and then fucked wildly in a hotel room and departed again until the next time.

This time, they had been apart for almost a month and Chloe had been getting a little antsy in Nadine’s absence. She’d been scrambling to come up with jobs in an attempt to meet her again but Nadine had blocked them all with valid reason.

Finally, she found one with a good enough payoff to danger ratio that Nadine could not refuse: they were to find an architect who was under the employment of a filthy rich collector named Gregory Scripps and with the help of the floor plan of his home, they would rob him blind.

The architect, Cole Sanders, just so happened to be under contract with one of the big corporations sponsoring the event tonight. Scripps had been invited, his brother being an executive at the company that had hired Sanders.

Chloe’s part of the job was to get a general idea of what Scripps would have locked up in his to-be-constructed fortress of a home as well as nicking Sanders’ room card off of him so Nadine could sneak in to his room and steal the plans.

The woman in question was, evidently, feeling a bit sore about Chloe leaving her to wait in a war zone when they’d first met and was dishing out some revenge.

She knew for a fact Nadine’s plane from Johannesburg had landed barely a half hour after her’s from Darwin and Chloe had spent a good hour in her hotel room scrolling through her phone. She didn’t know what Nadine was getting up to in her free time, but she decided that there would be a stern exchange of words when she decided to actually show up.

Within the hour, she’d already talked to Scripps, the slimy bloke he was, and had formed a long list of things she’d have to steal from him just to patch her soul up after spending that time in his company.

And Nadine? Nowhere to be—

“Whoa,” the bartender gaped, eyes wide.

Chloe turned just to see what the racket was about, taking a slow sip of her champagne to seem uninterested.

Then, gracefully, like the refined woman she was, she choked and sputtered and nearly dribbled.

Nadine arrived, guarded eyes already boring into Chloe’s from across the room.

“Holy shit,” she wheezed, a napkin balled up in her fist.

Nadine was dressed in a three-piece suit, probably bespoke.

The bottom layer was a pale blue dress shirt, almost white if one didn’t pay close enough attention, and was buttoned up to the top until the stiff collars wrapped around the base of Nadine’s throat. Over it was a crisp black pinstriped vest, joined in the middle by three shiny buttons. The trousers and blazer were well-fitted to Nadine’s figure and similarly black and striped. The lapels of her suit were carefully cut and the material of her suit folding in ways that looked too deliberate to count as wrinkles, the shoulders sloping.

Her hair was untied, the curls and frizzes brushing the shoulders of her suit and tickling against her neck where the top of her scar was, the rest disappearing under the collar of her shirt. Her hair was a bit longer than the last time Chloe had seen her.

As Nadine approached, Chloe noticed that the suit wasn’t black, instead, it was a very dark grey, and that she wore a silver watch on one wrist and a plain silver ring on the middle finger of her left hand.

Chloe’s eyes didn’t know where to stay, so they just continued sweeping up and down Nadine’s body.

When Nadine stopped a step away, Chloe settled on her eyes, ringed with simple eyeliner.

“You’re late,” Chloe said, voice coming out raspier than she intended. She didn’t have the nerve to attempt another swig from her champagne.

“I took the long way,” she said, eyes flickering away from Chloe’s face to her dress, then back up. She swallowed. “You look… beautiful.”

Chloe would have blushed if she were the type. She pushed herself up to her feet, off the bar, and looked curiously at Nadine. “When did you get this?”

Nadine raised her eyebrow, head tilting ever so slightly. Chloe felt herself get a little wet—correction: a little wetter.

She reached out and hooked a finger under Nadine’s lapel, dragging the finger down to the top of her breast. “The suit. When did you get it?”

“Oh,” she said, looking down to where Chloe had her suit held in her hand, her thumb rubbing circles into the material. “This is old. You said we should dress to impress.”

“I know what I said,” Chloe scoffed, incredulous. “I’m dressed to impress. You are dressed to bloody murder me.”

Nadine laughed and pushed closer so Chloe had to move back into the table, the edge cold against her skin. She was shorter right now, her polished brown shoes incomparable to Chloe’s heels, but the air of authority that came with the outfit made Chloe want to bend over backwards for her.

Chloe figured she would do just about anything to and for Nadine right about now.

Nadine held a hand out in the space between them and smirked wider when Chloe took it immediately. The ring on Nadine’s finger pressed against Chloe’s hand.

“This isn’t a dancing kind of party, love,” Chloe said, allowing herself to be led into the crowd. “We could be doing something else tonight though.”

“We’re mingling. What else is there to do?”

Chloe scowled and yanked her around before she let go entirely. “What do you think?”

Nadine gave her a cursory glance before turning back to people watching over Chloe’s shoulder. “Where’s Scripps?”

“I spoke to him already,” Chloe said after a moment. If Nadine didn’t want to talk about whatever they were doing, then she wouldn’t press. She didn’t exactly know how fragile they were and wasn’t about to accidentally break it off by forcing a discussion.

“Hm.” Nadine twisted her lips in thought. Chloe resisted the urge to wrap a hand around the back of Nadine’s neck and drag her in for a kiss. “And Sanders?”

“Your eight.”

Nadine turned them towards him with a firm hand on Chloe’s bare skin. Once she saw Sanders, they moved closer to him and then bypassed him entirely only a moment later. Without stopping, Nadine led them towards the elevators near the lobby.

“I’ll go,” Chloe said. “I’m tired of those corporate types.”

“Are you sure?”

Chloe rolled her eyes and waved the key card she’d slipped from Sanders’ pocket between her index and middle finger. “I’ve gotten this far without your help.”

The elevator arrived before Nadine could say anything smart in response.

Chloe made it quick; up to the seventh floor, into his room, and back down, the picture of the Scripps mansion layouts in her camera roll. She’d even gotten quick snaps of Sanders’ other jobs in case they were ever in a tight spot and needed a rich home or two to rob.

She shot off a quick text to Nadine, not waiting for a reply before she tucked her phone back into her purse.

Nadine was waiting for her when the elevator door opened, her blazer hanging over her shoulder, showing off her wonderfully bulging forearms from the bottoms of her folded sleeves. She jerked her head to the bathrooms.

When they were inside, Chloe moved to the sinks in the guise of touching up her lipstick while Nadine bent to look under the stalls. Empty.

She stood behind Chloe, close enough for Chloe to feel the top of her blazer brush against her back.

Chloe moved her head to the side, looking down at her own shoulder, then, to spy Nadine out the corner of her eye. “Yes?”

“Did you get it?”

Chloe rolled her eyes and shook her clutch in the air. “Yes, you doubt me?”

Nadine took it and pocketed it into her blazer, smiling. “Never.”

“Liar.”

“Makes two, hey.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Chloe. “I’ve never lied to anyone about anything ever in my life.”

Nadine snorted and reached up to rake her fingers through her hair, moving it one way, then the other.

Chloe turned suddenly. She pulled Nadine’s arm away from her own head and gripped tightly, walking them into the wall by the stalls. She used her other hand to cup Nadine’s cheek, and then she kissed her, hard and open-mouthed.

Nadine’s lips were parted and curved into a smile. She placed a warm hand on the curve of Chloe’s lower back, her thumb pushing into the skin just above her dress.

When they pulled apart, Chloe sucked in a breath and grinned. Nadine just opened her eyes and smiled back, one hand on Chloe, the other in the pocket of her trousers. Chloe wanted to laugh at the whole thing.

“Hello,” she whispered, pecking the corner of Nadine’s mouth.

“Hi.”

“How was this past month?”

“Good.”

“In the mood for single word replies, are you?” Chloe asked. Nadine looked amused at that. “I can see—feel—that you’ve been working out.”

She gave Nadine’s arm a squeeze. Nadine hummed. “Ja.” A beat. “Nice to have work to do though.”

Chloe placed both her hands on Nadine’s front, deftly working the top three buttons so she could touch Nadine’s bare chest, and leaned in. “Did you miss it?”

Nadine watched her, carefully. Then, tentatively, she stilled Chloe’s hands over her scar and gripped them gently.

“I missed you.”

Instantly, Chloe grinned and curved her fingers around Nadine’s. “Oh god, me too.” She kissed Nadine again, relieved. “Meet me outside? I have a key card to return.”

Nadine huffed a laugh when Chloe took her blazer to drape around herself and nodded her assent.

It was November at the moment, the night air harsh and frigid enough to pull a faint mist from Nadine’s mouth every time she breathed out. Chloe stared at her for a moment after she had slipped the card back into Sanders’ pocket and entered the lobby in search of Nadine.

The sleeves of her dress shirt were rolled back down to her wrists and her vest was buttoned properly up. The shirt was still left open, the collar jutting out from the smoothness of her vest. It gave her a sharper look, her profile cutting into lines and obtuse angles. Her hands were in her pockets, examining her shoes as she rolled on the balls of her feet.

She looked vaguely like a teenager waiting outside for their date to the prom, gathering the nerve to actually knock on the door.

It was then that she looked up, catching Chloe through the glinting windows, and she smiled softly with no teeth. Chloe’s heart sped up and she twiddled her fingers in a wave, joining her outside a second later. She returned Nadine’s blazer, having gotten her own coat back from coat check earlier.

Nadine offered her an arm to take, leaving her blazer unbuttoned.

The walk to Chloe’s hotel started silently, apart from the occasional car speeding by. There was a bridge they had to cross, but Chloe stopped in the middle and looked out over the river.

“Nadine.”

“Yes.”

Chloe inhaled sharply and steeled herself, and very slowly she turned with her arms held out. They weren’t too high, because Chloe felt a bit embarrassed about this to begin with, but they were high enough to look awkward if nothing happened.

Nadine wound her arms around Chloe’s middle, thank god for that. Chloe slung her own around Nadine’s neck and sighed into her hair. She was engulfed in warmth and she didn’t want to leave it.

“Can you stay in London a bit longer?” Chloe asked. “I missed you.”

She felt Nadine nod against her. Then: “We should talk. About this, I mean.”

“We will.”

“Okay.”

Chloe pulled away. “Okay,” she replied and pressed a kiss to Nadine’s cheek. “Let’s get going then. A warm and empty hotel room is waiting for us.”

“Of course.” Nadine laughed and once again gave her an arm to grab onto.

This whole dapper gentlewoman thing, well, Chloe would miss it sorely when she inevitably stripped it off Nadine later. For now, she was going to indulge herself.

[shamelessgallagherimagines]

The Stupid Little Things - Part 18/? - Carl Gallagher x Reader

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / The rest of the parts

Y/N’s P.O.V

“Okay, okay, fuck!” I said panicking, pulling Carl into a supply cupboard and slamming the door behind me.

“You’re face, Jesus fucking Christ! What did they do to your face?” I reached for his cheek, but he pulled away.

“Y/N, stop stressing. I swear I’m fine!”

“Bullshit,” I said quietly and turned a bucket upside down, making him sit on it “Fucking hell Carl! That’s a lot of blood,”

Carl rolled his eyes but did sit down.

“It’s called a nose bleed Y/N, of course there’s going to be bl-“

“I did at first,” he said, as if protesting “But… then I stopped.”

I gave him a blank look, the Carl Gallagher I knew wouldn’t stop fighting anybody, he sure as hell wouldn’t purposely lose. He was too proud.

“They weren’t fucking worth it,” he elaborated, and I nodded my head in agreement.

“Dickheads,” I said under my breath before grabbing a roll of paper towels and looking back at Carl, still sat on his bucket, head still in his hands, still slumped over. Despite all the blood, he looked almost adorable, comical almost and my heart gave a familiar lurch.

“Take this,” I said, tearing off a sheet of paper towel and handing it to him, before searching for some kind of medical supplies.

“What are you fucking up to now?” he laughed pressing the towel to his face as I rummaged through the messy shelves.

“Looking for something for your face. It’s even more fucked up than before,”

He flipped me off but kept dabbing his face with the tissue.

“Fuck you. Chicks dig scars,” Carl said, and I gave him a pointed look, making us both burst out with laughter.

“Do we now?” I said, waving a first aid box in the air triumphantly.

“Admit it, you’ve been fucking pining after me for years,” Carl joked, and I laughed.

And then I surprised myself.

“Maybe I have,”

 ///

Carl’s eyes widened with surprise, but he didn’t say anything, he didn’t try to tease me or mock me, he just looked completely astonished. Suddenly I was filled with an unhealthy amount of confidence.

 ///

“You’re doing a shit job of mopping up that blood Gallagher,” I said eventually, bending down a little so I was on his level, taking the tissue from his hands. Our fingers brushed a slightly and I felt him shift a little on the bucket.

“Fuck off,” he said softly and his voice with weirdly breathy. My hand was rested on his shoulder as I dabbed at his forehead, our faces angling towards each other, his eyes locked onto mine even as I concentrated on his blood.  It suddenly felt very tense.

“I’m getting cramp in my fucking knees,” I laughed awkwardly, trying to make the atmosphere a little lighter “I hope you appreciate this.” Carl smiled a little but then his eyes were overcome with a strange intensity.

His arms wrapped around my waist and he pulled me closer to him and I eventually let him lift me onto his lap. Neither of us acknowledged the sudden progression of things, neither of us said anything.

“Why didn’t you hit them back?” I asked after an eternity of silence, somehow allowing my hands to run through his hair and rest at the back of his neck.

Carl looked down and them back up.

“You?” he said.

I sighed with a little sadness.

“Is it wrong if I say I’m proud of you?” I whispered when he cocked his head to the side and I couldn’t help myself from wrapping him in a hug. He winced a little in pain as he folded his arms around my waist, and he snatched a sharp breath.

“Carl? Geez are you okay?” I said jerking away from him in concern, but he chuckled a little.

“I got kicked in the fucking ribs remember, sorry if I’m not a happy go lucky ray of fucking shine,”

I flipped him off but wasn’t really paying attention to him, instead frantically unbuttoning his shirt before noticing the smirk lacing his smile. I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t be getting any fucking ideas, I looking at your broken ribs.”

“Whatever you say,” he smirked, and I gave him one of my signature ‘Fuck Off’ glares.

“You might be a liar Y/N, but you’re my favourite liar,”

I didn’t acknowledge him because I was too busy staring at the absolute carnage.

“How the fuck have the bruises come up so quickly?” I gasped, running my fingers across his ribs, circling every patch of purple and red.

He shivered at my cold hands.

“They’re hickey’s,” he joked before correcting himself “Alex fucking kicked my yesterday as well, you know, when I was pounding his head into the ground.”

I stopped looking at his chest and instead started to disinfect the cuts on his hand with a wipe from the first aid box.

"Promise me you'll stop" I said, trying not to look him in the eye

"Stop what?"

"Carl, you know exactly what. Fights. I mean look at this" I motioned towards his nose "This was against Alex. You know you can handle yourself around him but what happens when you come up against someone stronger than you? Or what happens when you take it too far, you hit too hard and you never come out of Juvie again."

"I know", he flinched a little as I wiped a cotton swap with disinfectant across the grazed areas on his palm.

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts but it'll prevent an infection"

"It's my own stupid fault. I didn't want to fucking fight him Y/N believe me. But then he said things about Liam and Fiona and I snapped. And then about you. And that's when I lost it. I... I don't know what to say" I was shocked.

They were fighting about me. Carl hit him because of me, then Carl stood there and let himself be beaten into a pulp because of me. It was my fault. I felt a little sick from guilt but something else as well, a weird fuzzy warm feeling that just shouldn’t have been there. Carl Gallagher was defending me.

"I can fight my own battles" I said, wrapping his hand in a tight bandage.

"I fucking figured that out by now" he broke my eye contact and looked down "But still, that little fucker deserved it,"

I pulled back from him a little, still straddling him and just looked at him. Properly looked at him.

“Look at what they did,” I said, almost bordering on tears. He laughed it off again

“Seriously Y/n, I’m fucking fine. I had worse when I was still in the game,”

As soon as he mentioned the game his eyes darkened so I placed both of my hands on his cheeks.

“Wanna talk about it?” I whispered.

“Not really,” he whispered back.

We stared at each other again, until I broke the comfortable silence.

 ///

"Carl"

His eyes flickered up when I called his name, so I continued.

"Your lip.” There was a small cut, running through the centre of his top lip, bleeding slightly into his skin. I leaned further forwards, so my face was inches from his and dabbed at the cut with a damp tissue. Once most of blood had gone I leaned further forward still until my forehead was rested against his.

"Y/N" he whispered.

"Carl" I said back, my voice was soft, barely making a sound. I wanted him to kiss me there and then, to press his lips against mine, blood and all. I wanted him to hold me and not let go, to spin me around the store cupboard. Because it finally clicked, this wasn’t just some silly crush I could push deep down inside. I was actually in love with Carl Gallagher.

Only he didn't kiss me. 

When I leant in, he jerked away, taking a step backwards from me. My heart shattered as I tried to hide the pangs of embarrassment running riot through my body. Clearly Carl didn’t feel the same as me and that fucking sucked, but it was okay. I just couldn't bare the rejection anymore. I slid off of his lap without saying a word, holding back tears as I headed back out of the door. He must have noticed the look on my face because he tried to fix things.

"Y/N... I..." I placed a hand on my shoulder and tried to pull me back. I kept walking.

"Don't bother. I clearly misread this situation"

"Y/N just listen to me. Don't walk away. I wanted to kiss you so fucking much but I can't. For once in my life I'm doing the right fucking thing and you're punishing me for it," he said but his words were falling on deaf ears. I would not cry, I told myself, so I continued to walk out of his house.

"Oh yeah, and why's that" 

"I push people away. I can't do that to you"

"You push people away?"

"Yeah"

“You really expect me to believe that. You have no issue making out with any other girl”

“That’s because I’m not in love with them!”

I didn’t say anything.

“I’m in love with best friend and I don’t know what to do!” he shouted

"That's your reasoning?" My voice was no longer cold.

"Y/N I'm not the kind of person who..."I pushed Carl’s hand from my shoulder and placed both of mine either side of his head pulling him towards me. He didn't even pause for a split second his mouth colliding with mine, leaving me no time to react. His lips were surprisingly warm and soft, fierce yet powerful, but I was stunned, paralyzed almost. I didn't move at first, still trying to process what was happening. But then I stopped thinking, I stopped reasoning. I kissed him back, our lips crashing together messily. All I could taste was Carl Gallagher- spearmint and cinnamon and the lingering bitterness of beer on his lips. I didn't know who was breathing for who, his lips hot and strong against mine. I kissed him that time, properly, and he didn't pull away. I tangled myself in him and he kissed me back, raw and animalistic as if he had been waiting to for some time.

He pulled away first, his face dripping with guilt.

“Fuck! I’ve messed up!”

“Are you being serious right now?”

"Y/N, I'll only push you out, it's just how I am"

"Oh hell no!" I shouted half serious, half joking. He cocked his head at me "You push me, I'll grab you and pin you against the wall. We're in this together, we always have been"

"I'm a mess and a lot to handle. Most people don't and I'm not going to put you...

"Carl Francis Gallagher! When did you start caring about other people’s feelings" I said. He gave me a blank look. "I'm joking what I mean to say is that, you're my mess and let me be the judge of what I can handle".

I gave his hand a squeeze. He smiled up at me, genuinely, not just one of his stupid smirks.

“You fucking sure?” Carl asked grinning, pulling me close, so that my hips were pushed up against his.

“I’m motherfucking positive.”

 ///

I took his hand and pulled him outside the store cupboard to find most of the students were still milling around, first period still hadn’t started. I was considering whether it would be better to skip today or to stick it out for five more hours in hell when I realised somebody was staring at me. Carl wrapped a protective arm around me instinctively.

“Wow! What a slut! Some how I’m not surprised you hooked up with the fuck up in the supply cupboard, but that doesn’t make it any less nasty,” Oliva said, appearing seemingly from nowhere.

I was going to say something, but Carl had it covered, taking a step forward and getting dangerously close in her face. His voice wasn’t any louder than a whisper.

“You even try to speak to her again bitch and I’m coming over to your fucking house and killing your entire fucking family” He growled.

Then he grinned like a maniac.

 Well, for a girl that’s opposed to doing anything that will ruin her hair, Olivia ran faster than I’d ever seen her.

[lilacsolanum]

Animorphs October: Parents

Set sometime around or directly before #5.

Jean Blumenthal and Eva Ruiz had been inseperable long before they became Jean Berenson and — well, Eva Ruiz, because that’s just the sort of person Eva was. Eva did not change or bend for anyone. Within the first twenty-four hours of their introductions Eva had the bookish and shy Jean dancing with a stranger, all while wearing a halter top and floral print pants that sat VERY low on the hip. Eva pulled people into her orbit, and anyone who was chosen by her loved it. Eva had coaxed Jean out of a shell Jean hadn’t even known she’d built. Jean’s return influence on Eva was, at most, occasionally convincing her not to punch someone. Being Eva Ruiz’s best friend was a point of pride for Jean, even if Eva was constantly on the verge of getting Jean killed or worse — ruining her perfect GPA.

Eva had delighted in Jean’s easy pregnancy with Tom, and Jean had commiserated with Eva through her two miscarriages. They carried Marco and Jake together, two old friends happily swapping stories about the secret realities of pregnancy men never wanted to know about. Eva’s pregnancy with Marco was tumultuous, and Eva was constantly afraid she’d loose this one, too. She never told Peter her fears, because Peter had never been able to handle Eva at her weakest, and Eva had never enjoyed the moments where Peter saw her for an imperfect woman. Only Jean was allowed into that world, and only Jean had permission to hold Eva when she cried.

Marco had come out a few weeks early, but otherwise intact. Jake soon followed, and the two women never gave the two children a chance to not be best friends. When they were little, before their personalities and individualities had truly settled, Jean and Eva referred to Marco and Jake as their “twins”, even if they could not be physically more different. As the boys grew, Jean and Eva could not stop talking about how their friendship was a complete role reversal of their own. Jake was far more likely to be found stuck up a tree with Marco standing at the base, Marco’s his arms crossed over his chest and Marco saying, “I told you so.” However, when it came to spinning lies and protecting one another, it was well known that Marco shared Eva’s cunning. Jean had been embarrassingly outsmarted by that child more times than she cared to admit.

Losing Eva had hit all the Berensons, and hard. Jean still had dreams about her. Dreams where Eva’s death had been Jean’s fault, dreams where Eva’s death was all an elaborate prank and they celebrated, dreams where Eva had never died at all. Yet Jean had moved on. She had seen a grief counselor and had worked through her pain.

Peter had not.

Jean was driving Marco home after finding him in Jake’s room after midnight. A sleepover had not been permitted or discussed. Jean had all but physically pulled Marco out of Jake’s bedroom and thrown him into the car. He sat in her passenger seat, sulking, looking overly stressed and thin.

She knew, exactly, why Marco stayed with Jake so often. She normally let it slide. She and Steve provided their boys with stable, warm meals, meals that were cooked by an adult with an adult’s practice and did not come from a Kraft box. They had a basketball hoop in the yard and video game systems and cable, all things Peter had taken from Marco with his irresponsibility. Jean provided a warm home, and Peter provided nothing at all.

Jean had never truly seen the appeal in Peter. In her heart of hearts, she believe Eva had settled for someone steady rather than find someone who was a true match for her. Eva hadn’t grown up with much money, and had a lot of anxiety about it as a result. With Peter, she never had to worry. Peter made more money sneezing than Jean and Steve made all year combined, and Eva loved nothing more than spending it while knowing she’d still have enough left over to eat. It didn’t make her a gold digger, not exactly, but the security of Peter’s sturdiness gave Eva a deep seated sense of comfort. However, comfort was not happiness, and Jean had always resented Peter a little. Eva had been too good for him. Eva had deserved nothing less than the stars themselves, and Peter was little more than a practical garden shrub.

Jean had been learning more and more about Peter’s state lately. She knew that he and Marco had moved to the bad part of town, which was horrifying enough, but she hadn’t known the full details as to what extent Peter had given up. Peter did not cook. Peter did not clean. Peter did nothing but lie on a couch, lost to himself, and Marco was forced to care for his own father. It was abhorrent. It had to end.

Jean made Marco let her inside. He was loathe to do so, and clearly resented Jean more than ever. Jean recognized the look. She’d seen it on Eva’s face countless time, when she told Eva it was time to go home from the club, or demanded Eva put out that cigarette. She had long since grown immune to that look.

The first thing she noticed about the apartment was how sparse it was. Where had all of Eva’s meticulously chosen furniture gone? The second thing was that the whole apartment smelled like stale nicotine, and she started feeling nauseous. The third thing she noticed was that Peter was asleep on the couch.

“Does he not have a bedroom?” asked Eva.

Marco crossed his arms. “No,” he said after a moment, as if he had been scanning his mind for a way out of the question but hadn’t come up with one. “The bedroom’s mine, can I go to it, Jean?”

“Please do,” she said, ignoring the emphasis on her name over the word ‘mom.’ Jean and Eva used to be called mom by all their boys. Now, Marco was reminded her that she was anything but. He stormed off, his anger running far too deeply for any one thirteen-year-old. Jean watched him go, listened to the door slam, and then she kicked Peter awake.

He sat up slowly, running his face over his hands. “What are you doing here?” he asked Jean. They hadn’t seen each other in a year and a half.

“Your son was at my house tonight,” she hissed, keeping her voice low so that Marco could not hear.

“Oh,” said Peter blearily. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s midnight,” said Jean. “Midnight. Did you have any idea he was with Jake? At all?”

Peter blinked, looking at the nearest clock. There wasn’t one, not really. Jean watched as his eyes fell on the VCR, which blinked 12:00, as if Peter wasn’t one of the most brilliant engineers of the decade and did not know how to program a VCR clock. “He probably told me,” he muttered.

Jean sighed, and started walking around the apartment. She opened the refrigerator door, and light flooded the apartment’s kitchenette. This revealed a gaggle of roaches that had been enjoying the darkness. They all scattered to various other hidden places in the kitchen, and Jean tried not to scream. When she looked inside the fridge, she saw nothing but a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, a jar of mayonnaise and a container of lunch meat. Bright blue price stickers were on every item. They weren’t even shopping at a proper grocery store, they were shopping at a convenience store. Jean was sure neither of them had had a fresh vegetable since Eva’s had passed.

“What is this Peter,” she said, finding a small sort of pleasure in a addressing him with the amount of disdain she’d always wanted to address him with. “Is it drinking? Is that what you’re doing?”

“What? No!” said Peter shortly. “I don’t drink.”

“You used to,” said Jean, closing the refrigerator door. “You used to do a lot of things. Like, oh, I don’t know. Have a job. Care for your family.”

“I have a job,” said Peter.

“Uh-huh,” said Jean. “The prodigy Peter Champlin, cleaning toilets at the local office tower.” She went to an untouched pile of mail and opened up an envelope. This got Peter to stand up.

“Hey!” he said, his voice raising just slightly. “You can’t go through my mail!”

Jean ignored him, and held up the letter she’d just opened up. “Past due? Really? You?”

Peter went silent.

Jean slammed the notice on the table, breathing heavily through her nose. She rested her palms on the table and leaned forward, forcing herself to calm down. When she looked back up at Peter, her face was red. “This is no environment for a child. Not at all.”

“It works for us,” said Peter.

Jean slammed her palms against the table. “It doesn’t,” she hissed. She didn’t yell, because she did not want Marco to eavesdrop, but Peter flinched backward all the same. Jean did not often get angry, and when she did, she made it count.

“Eva and I created Jake and Marco side-by-side,” said Jean. “He’s as much my son as he is yours. And he’s unhappy. Do you understand that? As parents, we have one job. We try to give our children with happiness and strength. That is it. That is all. You have failed that. Do you have a pen?”

“I’m — I’m not sure,” mumbled Peter. He was clearly avoiding looking directly at Jean.

Jean took a deep breath and then pushed herself away from the table. She found Marco’s backpack at the front entrance, abandoned and untouched since he’d gotten home from school. This was another thing that shocked her about Peter’s negligence. No matter what Eva did the night before, Eva always made it to class, always did her work, and always got an A. Marco, according to Jake and Marco himself, prided himself on exactly how much homework he refused to do. Jean pulled a pencil out of a pocket, and then wrote down a name and number on Peter’s overdue notice.

“This is my therapist,” said Jean. “Call him. Whatever you’re doing needs to stop. You go and get your — your shit together,” she said, spitting on the word ‘shit’, because Jean Berenson did not swear unless her hand was forced. “Get it together, or else I will drain oceans and move mountains to ensure that your son lives with anyone but you.”

Peter numbly took the number from Jean’s hand. “Okay,” he said.

“That is not an empty threat,” said Jean, gathering up her things. “Try me.”

If Eva was not there to protect Marco with a mother’s wrath, Jean would do it for her.